


And I Thought I Had Problems

by Amand_r



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt: Methos, Bob and Harry; "With hither and thither, straight as a line" or Inside out and upside down."</p>
    </blockquote>





	And I Thought I Had Problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lferion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/gifts).



> Prompt: Methos, Bob and Harry; "With hither and thither, straight as a line" or Inside out and upside down."

"I thought spirits couldn't get drunk," Methos said as he poured the man, or the thing in a man, a drink.

The man sighed. "We can't." He slammed the shot back and smiled drunkenly. "But this dude can." His eyes crossed. "Man, this guy's tolerance is weak." He gestured for Methos to pour him another. "I think he might be a Mormon."

Methos shrugged. "Or a Hari Krishna," he said, gesturing to the man's bald head.

The man snorted. "I like to think he's going through his Patrick Stewart phase." He pointed to his empty beer glass and glared at the bartender, a tall menacing-looking man named McAnally. "Number one! Beer! Make it so!"

McAnally didn't seem to be put out. He just refilled the glass from the tap. "Harry's on his way," he told the man.

"Who's Harry?" Methos asked. He glanced about the bar. It was fairly empty for a Christmas Eve. Wasn't that when everyone got his or her drink on?

The man flipped a coaster over again and again. "My buddy. Harry's my buddy." He smiled. "He gives me porn."

Methos was about to say something when the front door opened and a burst of cold air crept up his jacket. His sword felt heavier for a second, and he turned to glance at the new arrival, who made a beeline straight to them.

"Bob," said the other man, whom Methos could only think was Harry, and who sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. He had a lean look about him, like a man who'd seen lots of action and forgot to eat in between.

"I want a steak sandwich," Bob said suddenly. "With—oh wait, Adam, tell him about the blonde. The one with the giant hooters."

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, that's okay. I think I have it figured out."

Bob smiled. "I got lucky."

Methos sipped his beer. Actually, Bob had groped her breasts and then recited fifteen dirty limericks to her before she'd slapped him and moved to the far corner of the bar with a very dangerous looking man who seemed to not be human. "It's amazing he still has all his fingers and toes," he told Harry.

"All right then," Harry said, finally coming forward enough to lean on the bar and give McAnally the eye. "What does he owe you?"

McAnally glanced at a paper napkin with tally marks on it. "Fifty seven dollars."

Harry dug around in his pockets and produced a scruffy wallet, shaking his head. "I said you could go out, but did you have to have the expensive whisky?"

Bob hiccuped and set his head down on the bar. Methos smiled. He was such a lightweight. "If it's not Bushmills, then it's not a Schlitz." He frowned. "That's not how that goes."

"I have this," Methos says, throwing a card on the bar. "It was worth it." Hell, it wasn't even his card. It was Amanda's American Express Gold. And to McAnally he said, "I'll be right back. He reached around Bob's frame and put one arm over his shoulder, while Harry got the other.

"Aaaand up! we go," Harry said, tugging on Bob's large frame. "Where did you get this guy? From the Maroons' athletic room?"

Bob stopped and they almost lost him, pitching forward with the sudden loss of momentum. Methos felt his own insides lurch. Maybe he'd had too much to drink as well. "I can walk fine, thanks. I think, maybe, that I got him at a fraternity." Bob smiled. "They had a beer bong as big as this guy's d—oof!" He ran headfirst into the closed door to the outside world. "Well, it was huge," he continued, not fazed in the least by his almost-fall.

"Yeah, you can walk," Harry said dryly, opening the door with one hand.

"Hither and thither, straight as a line," Bob muttered as he stumbled through the open door and out into the street. The snow crunched under their feet. "There is no way I'd pass a sobriety test in my state." He smiled at Harry. "You drive."

Harry snorted and helped Bob to the passenger side of a very dilapidated VW Beetle. From what Methos could see, there was no interior upholstery. "Oh thank you, your lordliness," he mumbled, and unceremoniously dumped Bob in the car with a thud.

Bob laughed. "The next time I see Toot Toot, I'mma tell him how mean you were to me in my time of need. Maybe they'll starch your underwear."

Harry slammed the door on Bob just has he was about to start a rousing chorus of '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall'. Methos could hear him belting inside the car. That was gonna be one long ride home.

END

**Author's Note:**

> The phrase Bob is trying to remember comes from a sci-fi movie whose title I've forgotten. In it, a man walks up to a bar and says, "I'll have a Schlitz." The bartender replies "We don't have any Schlitz," to which the man says, "Then you don't have any beer."


End file.
